


Ex umbra, in solem

by busylittlebee



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Blood and Violence, Dark magic cults, Friendship, Magical War, Mentions of Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hogwarts, There's love too but it's not the main plot point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busylittlebee/pseuds/busylittlebee
Summary: Nine years after graduating from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Jaebeom, Mark, Jackson, Jinyoung, Youngjae, Bambam and Yugyeom have all moved on with their lives and respective careers in the magical world. What originally was a promise all of them intended to keep is now a blurred, distant memory that rarely crosses their busy minds.That is, of course, until the murder of a dark wizard brings them together again.With a dark menace looming on the horizon, they'll be forced to put their differences aside and come together to face an incredibly powerful enemy one last time.(A/N: This story may be updated irregularly, depending on how busy real life keeps me and how long the story itself turns out to be. Thanks for your patience and hope you enjoy it!)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW for this chapter: vomiting, mention and depiction of death.

Knockturn Alley isn’t exactly Jinyoung’s ideal choice to spend a Friday evening. The streets are narrow and dark, but even for such a sombre place, the pubs and bars are bustling.

He makes his way through the crowd, looking around with a permanent scowl on his face. He’s used a mild transfiguration charm to change his facial features in case anyone recognises him, although that’s highly unlikely. Everyone he’s ever caught is either dead or locked up in Azkaban.

Just as it’s beginning to rain softly, he pushes the door open and walks into the pub, removing the hood off his head. He shoots a warning glare at some limping old wizard who was trying to wobble to the last empty table on the far corner of the room and it does the trick immediately. The wizard bows his head, avoiding his gaze, and limps away mumbling under his breath. Jinyoung sits down, orders some firewhiskey, and waits.

It isn’t long before the door is pushed open and in walks a tall wizard, unmistakably Asian, long hair tied up in a bun, clad in dark robes. He takes a look around before choosing a seat by the bar. Jinyoung pays close attention to his accent from where he is seated, even though the place is crowded and it’s difficult to hear properly.

The wizard orders himself a drink and waits, stealing a few stealthy glances at the front door. He’s definitely waiting for someone —or something— to arrive. Jinyoung pushes his half-empty glass of firewhiskey away and pulls a small vial of sobering potion from his robes. A small dose of it does the trick, and his senses are sharper than ever. He watches as the wizard shifts on his stool, growing antsy by the minute. When he turns to look at the door once more, his robes shift around the collar and a flash of stark white fabric is revealed briefly before he covers it up.

Bingo.

Now completely sure he’s the man Jinyoung’s been on the lookout for the past few weeks, he begins to stand up from his seat when somebody suddenly barrels into him, sending him against the nearest wall.

“That thing was not a dragon egg!” someone bellows.

Two men are fighting, very obviously angry and very obviously drunk. One of them has pushed the other and he’s collided against Jinyoung. The man in question is now getting up from where he’s fallen, dusting off his purple waistcoat like it is nothing.

“I never said it was,” he slurs, swaying slightly but ultimately managing to maintain his balance. “I only said it was a _very valuable egg_.”

Jinyoung blinks. Surely it can’t be possible.

“You sold me an egg that looked exactly like a dragon egg, I paid an unhealthy amount of Galleons for it and it only spurted confetti and bloody _puffskeins_ when I put it in the fire!” the other man shouts, enraged. He’s bigger and looks much more threatening than the one he has just shoved, who is tall and lanky and has a smug look on his face.

At this point, the whole pub’s attention is focused in the brawl. Even Jinyoung can’t tear his eyes away from the wizard in the purple waistcoat. He knows that face, he’s seen it so many times, but this is probably the last place in the whole world he would have expected to come across it.

“Bambam,” he manages to call, and the wizard turns sharply to face him.

“And who the hell are you?”

Jinyoung remembers his real face is hidden by the transfiguration charm, but he can’t undo it now. He spots the angry wizard pointing his wand at Bambam’s back, and before he knows it, he’s whipped out his own wand.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

The spell hits the oaf in the middle of the chest and sends him tumbling back into the table, glasses and bottles breaking. Chaos ensues as his friends start shooting hexes and jinxes at him, but Jinyoung is quick to cast a protective charm over himself and Bambam, grabbing him by the wrist and dashing towards the door.

“Wait—where are you taking me?!” Bambam yells, trying to break free, but Jinyoung only grips him harder, his jaw clenching.

“Shut up and follow me.”

Without a warning, he apparates to a nearby alleyway. They’re still in Knockturn Alley, though, a few blocks away from the pub. Bambam wobbles and bends over, puking violently in a corner.

“I’d appreciate a little bit of warning,” he says, wiping his mouth.

Jinyoung lets out an exasperated sigh, removing the charm that was masking his face with a flick of his wand.

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” he mocks, watching as Bambam takes in his features.

“Jinyoung?” he exclaims, still slurring the words. He reeks of alcohol. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, it is, lower your damn voice.” Jinyoung pulls another sobriety potion from his pocket and hands it to Bambam. “Here, drink this.”

Bambam doesn’t bother asking what it is as he unstoppers the vial and gulps down the draught. It takes effect in less than a minute and he shakes his head, blinking repeatedly.

“Better?” Jinyoung asks.

“Yeah. I think so.” Bambam nods, running a hand through his dark hair. He turns to Jinyoung. “What in Merlin’s name were you doing in there?”

“I could ask you the same,” Jinyoung replies, grabbing Bambam by the collar of his shirt and leading him further into the shadows. “But to answer your question, I’m an auror and I was undercover. A cover you happened to blow with your stupid drunken brawl, and now I’ve lost my suspect,” he hisses in a low voice, visibly irritated.

“So you’re an auror. You passed the training.”

“With distinction.”

Jinyoung pulls the hood over his head. Anyone could be watching and it’s not advisable to be seen here, especially when you’re the Ministry’s most infamous auror.

“What about you, though? Last time I heard from you, you were on the cover of the Daily Prophet,” he says, turning to Bambam. “Don’t you own a chain of shops?”

Bambam’s chest puffs out with pride as he nods.

“Yeah. _Bam’s Shocking Shop of Shenanigans_ ,” he announces. “It’s a chain of joke shops. You know how much I loved pranks back in school, so I made a business out of it. We’re opening the next one in Dublin.”

“Good for you.” Jinyoung adjusts his gloves. “Care to tell me why you sold a fake dragon egg to that wizard back in the pub, then?”

“Are you questioning me now?”

“Just curious. It was painfully obvious you’re a regular around here,” he looks Bambam up and down, “and I’d hate to have to arrest you. Tons of paperwork, you see.”

“I was merely testing one of my personal creations.”

“And getting Galleons for it.”

Bambam shrugs. “He insisted on paying. Nobody forced him.”

“So you have a huge joke shop business and still make some extra money on the side by lurking around Knockturn Alley and selling your products in the black market?” Jinyoung arches an eyebrow.

“Not selling. I mostly _trade_ ,” Bambam clarifies, adjusting his robes around himself. “Many products are hard to find, and if I want to stay on top of things, I must be creative. I make almost all my products myself, and a great part of that innovation comes from the exchanges I do here.” He glances at Jinyoung, taking him in properly for the first time. “You’re not ratting me out, are you?”

Jinyoung scoffs.

“That depends. I lost my suspect because of you, so I have to go looking for him again. For all I know, he could still be around here,” he explains. “You’re going to help me find him.”

“Great, because hunting down a dark wizard is my favourite thing to do. No, thanks.”

He turns to leave, but Jinyoung shoots a hex at his ankles and binds them together with a tight rope. Bambam gasps and falls over with a thud, groaning.

“I didn’t give you a choice. You owe me,” Jinyoung says, bending over him with a wide grin. “Come on, up you go.”

Bambam sighs in defeat.

“Fine, but if anybody asks, I had no part in this.”

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung releases his feet with a quick slicing charm that cuts the rope in the blink of an eye. Bambam gulps at how sharp and neat the cuts on the ropes are, but he says nothing of it. Jinyoung nods towards the street once and then heads out, followed by Bambam.

“Who are we looking for, exactly?”

“A tall wizard, about six feet, medium length hair, Asian. Sharp features. Dark grey robes and white underneath,” Jinyoung explains, his eyes exploring every single dark corner they come across. “Keep your wand close.”

It’s late in the evening and there are not as many people meandering about, even in Knockturn Alley.

“Got it.” He hears Bambam retrieve his wand from his pocket.

“And be ready to defend yourself.”

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I duelled properly?” Bambam scoffs.

“I imagine it’s been a while, but you know the basics. You don’t need to be a master duellist to get out of a skirmish unharmed,” Jinyoung replies quietly. “Don’t expect any kind of duelling etiquette from dark wizards. They will try to find your weak spot, curse you behind your back if they must. So be careful.”

Just when that last word leaves his lips, an eerie but brief flash of green light and a cracking sound startles them. Jinyoung whips around to locate the source.

“Around that corner,” he gasps, sprinting towards the dead-end street the light has come from, hand firmly grasping his wand. Bambam follows suit.

When they make it to the alleyway, the stench of dark magic is so evident Jinyoung has to fight the urge to retch. He doesn’t venture further into the street; it’s too dark to see whether someone might still be hiding in the shadows. He holds an arm out to stop Bambam from advancing.

“ _Lumos_ ,” he murmurs, and the tip of his wand lights up.

The alleyway is empty, save for a few wooden crates scattered about and the body of a man lying on the cold cobblestone ground, facing away from them. Bambam gulps beside Jinyoung, somewhat disturbed by the sight.

“Is he—”

“Dead? Yeah. That flash of green light was an _Avada_.”

Slowly, Jinyoung takes a careful step towards the body before turning to Bambam.

“Keep an eye out, we don’t want anyone snooping around here.”

Bambam nods hesitantly.

Jinyoung turns again, casting several revealing charms and detecting a powerful trace of dark magic still lingering in the area. He crouches by the body and examines it without touching it, just casting several basic diagnostic spells that tell him that the man has, evidently, been hit with the killing curse not too long ago. The way he’s lying on his front and the expression on his face—eyes wide, lips parted—pretty much tell Jinyoung that he was hit in the back without a single word of warning.

Gritting his teeth, his thoughts dart back to the Asian wizard in the pub. He doesn’t want to be too hasty—it may have just been a settling of scores; those are quite common around there, after all. But the amount of dark magic still lingering in the air, the way it clings to his clothes, hair and skin, as if it were a sentient being trying to seep through his pores and tear him from the inside out, definitely tells him otherwise.

With a sigh, he straightens up and turns to Bambam.

“Care to take a look?”

“You want me to look at a dead body?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And I said I wanted no part in this.”

“Any kind of help would be appreciated,” Jinyoung replies, the light from the tip of his wand bouncing off the narrow walls and casting shadows on his hooded face. His expression turns slightly sour as he continues, “Though I have other ways to make you cooperate, Mr _I-Don’t-Sell-I-Trade_.”

Bambam groans under his breath, casting a nonverbal _Lumos_ and approaching the body.

“The things I do for you,” he shoots Jinyoung a look before crouching down. “Hey, hold up—I know this dude.”

Jinyoung’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“Well, I don’t know his name, I only met him once, but I remember his face. He had a rather impressive scar on his left eyebrow—see? There it is. He also had a weird accent, certainly not from around here,” Bambam recalls. “He sold me a bottle of acromantula venom.”

“Didn’t you get anything else from him? Occupation, anything?” Jinyoung presses, crouching next to him.

Bambam purses his lips, struggling to remember, but he just shakes his head.

“No, sorry. He only said he was here ‘on business’, we started talking about potion ingredients and he offered me a small bottle of acromantula venom for a bargain, not even a hundred Galleons,” he says slowly, careful not to miss any details. “I made sure it was genuine, of course—”

“Why would you want such an ingredient?” Jinyoung suddenly questions. “You’re not a potioneer.”

Bambam gives him a sad smile.

“But I know someone who is,” he replies. “And he’s working his arse off in St Mungo’s, saving countless lives on the daily. He’s also the only person from school I’ve been somewhat in contact with.”

“Yugyeom.”

“I believe people call him Healer Kim now, but yeah,” Bambam nods. “Anyway, he’s the Head Potioneer in his unit and sometimes the budget for ingredients isn’t enough. I help him with that.”

Jinyoung only nods once, the memory of the dark circles under Yugyeom’s eyes after the all-nighters he pulled studying for his N.E.W.T.s crossing his mind momentarily. He hasn’t seen any of his best friends from school in over nine years, but he is focused enough to know he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, when there’s a powerful dark wizard murdering people in Knockturn Alley.

“You heard the cracking sound, didn’t you?” he asks Bambam, and the other nods, understanding slowly flooding his features.

“Someone disapparated.”

“Hastily, it seems.”

Jinyoung pushes one of the empty crates out of the way with his foot, the light emerging from his wand revealing a small splinter of wood. Upon closer inspection, Jinyoung realises the reddish hue can only come from a very specific type of tree.

“If you disapparate in a hurry and without a clear destination in mind, you may get splinched,” he explains, and Bambam shudders slightly, “but your clothes or anything you’re carrying with you can also become damaged.” He holds up the tiny piece of wood. “Like your wand.”

“So… whoever killed this guy left in a hurry?”

“Yeah.” Jinyoung gets up, reaching into his robes and keeping the splinter in one of his pockets. “The thing is, why?”

“Why did they leave or why did they kill him?” Bambam asks, turning to point his wand at the dead man. “I’m seriously getting freaked out, Jinyoung. Have you noticed the… smell?”

“It’s dark magic,” Jinyoung nods, approaching the body and examining it once more. He rolls the man over onto his back, his shocked expression only becoming more disturbing. “Whoever cast that curse must be very—” he trails off, eyes widening slightly.

The man’s head has lolled to one side, revealing a small mark etched into the skin behind his left ear in white ink. Squinting to see it better, Jinyoung leans closer. It’s like an emblem of sorts, a sphere in which a hand is reaching up towards a wand, surrounded by what looks like rays of light.

“I don’t recognise it. Have you ever seen this mark before?” Jinyoung asks, beckoning Bambam and urging him to take a look.

Bambam glances at the small tattoo, barely noticeable in plain sight, then shakes his head with a sigh.

“No, sorry. I think I’d remember if I had, but it’s hard to spot anyway.”

That is no ordinary tattoo. It has been magically marked into the wizard’s skin, Jinyoung notices, casting a diagnostic spell over it and revealing traces of dark magic once again. However, he wore it somewhere where people wouldn’t notice, at least not unless they were actively looking. He mulls over the ideas, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he fiddles with his wand.

“I have to notify the Ministry,” he finally says, turning to Bambam. “They’ll take care of the body, and we’ll open an investigation to at least find out about his identity.”

Bambam nods slowly as they step away from the body, seeming a bit more relieved.

“What should I do?” he asks after a beat, unsure.

“Go home for now,” Jinyoung replies, “but stay on the lookout just in case. It should go without saying that it’s best if you steer clear of this place for a while, too.”

Bambam fights the urge to gulp again. Instead, his jaw tightens and he straightens up, partially hiding his uneasiness as he fixes his robes.

“Alright,” he looks up at Jinyoung and gives a nod of agreement. His expression softens slightly. “Well, I would’ve surely preferred meeting you in different circumstances, but I can’t say I’m not glad to see you, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung nods back, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Same here,” he says, holding out his hand. “Despite everything, it’s good to see you.”

Bambam takes it without hesitation.

“If you need anything, you know where my shop is. You can find me there.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then, with a small ‘pop’, Bambam disapparates. Jinyoung casts protective wards on the alleyway and conjures his Patronus, an elegant and beautiful impala, to send an urgent message to the aurors in his unit.

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, and welcome to my brand new (and probably long af) Potter7 fic! I've been writing this on and off for a few months (and still haven't finished it), but it wasn't until today that I finally decided to start posting it. I'm kinda hoping it'll get me out of the writer's block I've been experiencing lately.  
> Btw, this work is un-beta-ed, so any typos are entirely my fault. Sorry in advance!  
> Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the story! Thank you so much for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

“Well done today, everyone!” Colin exclaims, raising his glass for a toast. “We’re so ready for the match against the Kenmare Kestrels on Saturday.”

Mark smiles as he takes a sip of his own drink. Colin is literally like a ray of sunshine; always so bright and positive. It’s easy to tell the Captain of his Quidditch team belonged in Hufflepuff back in school.

“But we mustn’t let our guard down,” Samuel, the Keeper, reminds them in his soft Brazilian accent. “They’re good. And they have only lost one game so far since the season started.”

“That’s true,” Indira quips, sipping her tea.

Even when they go out to celebrate, she can’t seem to forgo her herbal tea. At first glance, it would be easy to mistake her for a meek and quiet girl, but her actual personality couldn’t be further away from that. In the pitch, Indira Singh is practically unbeatable. A natural strategist, she’s the one who always helps Colin plan out their games, thanks to her extensive knowledge about Quidditch tactics and tricks. Currently, she’s ranked in the top five best players in the national league.

Her black gaze catches Mark’s and she gives him a soft smile, which he returns.

“You okay, Mark?”

He blinks, caught off guard by the question, and shakes his head softly. His silver hair falls in his eyes as he does so.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about the upcoming game, is all.”

Indira hums, bringing the steaming cup to her lips and taking a careful sip.

“You’ve been a bit distracted during practice today. Took you quite a bit to get the Wronski Feint right. Everything alright with you?” she asks, genuine concern showing in her voice.

She’s the only one in the team who knows about Mark’s struggle with fame. She’s the only one he told when he decided to move into a flat in muggle Edinburgh because the one he was previously living in was constantly swarmed with reporters and fans looking for pictures and interviews. It all came to a point when he just got fed up, shoved all his belongings into his trunk and decided to leave without telling anybody.

Well, anybody except Indira. She helped him find a nice flat that is now thankfully free of any creepy paparazzi or crazed fans. The only downside is that he has to lay low and live an apparently ‘normal’ muggle life while keeping his magic contained and hidden from the prying eyes of neighbours and acquaintances. When they ask about his job, he just tells them he works from home, in the IT department of some random insurance company. Thankfully, the idea is boring enough to prevent any further questions.

He snaps back into reality when Angus, one of the Beaters, gently shoves him to the side. With how strong and big he is, he almost makes Mark topple over.

“Oi! Anyone up there?” he barks, earning laughs from all around the table.

“Knock it off, Buchanan,” Indira says, frowning. “Mark’s tired.”

“Well, that ain’t good news. Can’t have our Seeker falling sick right before the very last game of the league, can we?” Skye, Angus’ sister, replies from the other side of the table.

“I’m not sick, guys, come on,” Mark says with a smile, hoping to lighten up the mood again. “Just a tad worried. The Kenmare Kestrels aren’t to be messed with. Have you seen their Seeker?”

“Yeah. Quite the woman, that one,” Agnes, one of the Chasers, says with a soft sigh. “I’d reckon she’s twice your size… but you’re quite skinny yourself.”

“Agnes, no crushing on our rivals,” Colin snaps.

“Not even a little?”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I! Don’t deny it helped when I winked at the Appleby Arrows’ Keeper so that you could score a goal!”

Mark chuckles at that. Agnes is the youngest in the team, probably no older than twenty, and she is beautiful. Her long, straight, platinum blonde hair and her unusual indigo eyes are sure to charm anyone who so much as glances her way, both on and off the pitch. Mark is almost sure there must be some Veela blood running through her veins.

“Oh, crap, it’s getting late,” Samuel suddenly says, jumping out of his seat. “I promised I’d call my dad. He doesn’t have magic and we’ve already had a few incidents with owls and letters, so I have to phone him.”

“Ah, phones,” Indira chimes in, grinning, “probably the only muggle invention I tolerate. Much more efficient than owls.”

Mark sees his chance and seizes it like it’s a Golden Snitch.

“I should probably get going, too.” He stands up and places a few coins on the table. “I don’t want to drink too much or else I won’t be able to get home.”

“Come on, lad, you can just apparate,” Angus says, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“I prefer to walk.” Mark grins, grabbing his coat. “See you tomorrow, guys. Rest up.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” Colin waves them off as he and Samuel walk towards the pub’s exit. “And don’t be late!”

As soon as they’re out the door, Samuel pulls out his wand and gives Mark a pat on the shoulder.

“Sorry, mate, I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m going to apparate home.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Go chat with your dad,” Mark says with a soft smile, shaking his head. “Good night.”

Samuel nods once and vanishes with a small ‘pop’. Sighing, Mark notices a few curious eyes landing on him as people seem to recognise his face. He’s in the magical part of Edinburgh, still bustling with life even at that hour, and wizards and witches of all ages have at least heard of the Seeker who has landed his team all their victories in the season. Before anyone can muster up the courage to approach him, however, he ditches the idea of walking and apparates to an alleyway in the muggle part of the city, wobbling a little on his feet and leaning against the wall for support.

“Someday I’ll get the hang of this thing,” he mumbles to himself, dusting off his jacket. The, with a flick of his wand, he transfigures his wizard clothes into a pair of jeans and a thick black hoodie. Something simple that will surely make him go unnoticed even amongst muggles.

A light rain starts pouring as he walks briskly through the dimly lit streets, pulling the hood over his head to avoid getting wet. The muggle part of Edinburgh is a lot less crowded and busy than the magical part, probably because it’s a normal weekday night. It’s starting to get chilly, so people stay inside, watch silly telly, and tuck their children in under thick, fluffy blankets. Mark appreciates the silence, though, and lets out a liberating sigh as he nears his building.

He really made a good decision moving to this part of the city. Here, he can be just one more stranger going about his ordinary daily life. No cameras flashing, no people following him everywhere, no odd looks from passers-by.

The rain grows a little heavier as Mark starts patting his pockets in search of his key. It’s only then that he realises someone is standing by the front door of his block of flats, shielding themselves from the rain and quietly observing him.

He can’t see their face, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as soon as he spots them. Instinctively, he reaches back and feels his wand in the back pocket of his jeans, hidden by the long, oversized hoodie. Then, carefully, he pulls out his keys and makes for the door, hoping to get in as quickly as possible.

The stranger seems to perk up upon noticing him. It’s a young woman who is clutching a soaked coat against her chest, her curly red hair pulled into a ponytail while loose strands stick to her freckled cheeks. Mark narrows his eyes slightly; the scent of magic is faint, but definitely there.

“Good evening,” he mumbles, keys dangling as he reaches for the door.

“Good evening, Mr Tuan,” the woman answers in a thick Scottish accent.

He freezes. Slowly, he turns his head to see a small, polite smile on her lips.

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet.” She holds out a pale hand. “Norah McDougall, reporter for _The Daily Prophet_.”

Mark doesn’t shake it.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, the idea of being polite long forgotten. “I don’t want reporters lurking around my house. This is my private life.” With a huff, he turns back to the door and tries to find the right key while mumbling to himself about warding the entire building.

“Please, Mr Tuan, I know this is terribly selfish of me, but I’d like to ask a few questions, if possible? My article is supposed to be printed in the morning and I don’t have—”

“No.”

Finally, he finds the key and slides it into the lock.

“It’s only a few questions, look,” she insists in a pleading voice, pulling out a notepad. “See? Just five minutes of your time, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Mark grits his teeth and stands in the doorway, holding the door open with his hand.

“I said _no_. I don’t know how you found this place, but if you don’t leave now, I’m calling the Ministry and reporting you for harassment,” he snaps, his voice tight and low. “Leave, now.”

He doesn’t wait for her response as he makes his way inside, letting the door close behind him. There’s a beat of silence and a tug in his stomach before he quickly ducks, only just managing to dodge a curse thrown at him from behind. Glass shatters somewhere to his left as he turns, quickly pulling out his wand and casting a shielding charm to deflect the next jinx.

Norah is standing in the doorway, the door torn off its hinges by the force of the first curse. She’s pointing a white wand at him and casting non-verbal spells in a string that doesn’t seem to stop. Mark does his best to dodge them or send them bouncing off the walls, barely managing to retaliate. It’s clear she’s not a journalist, if the wicked look in her eyes is anything to go by.

She’s an impeccable duellist, and a ruthless one at that.

Huffing, Mark retreats a few steps and heads for the stairs after casting a _Bombarda_ at the witch’s feet to distract her. However, that doesn’t give him as much time as expected, since she vanishes the smoke with a sharp movement of her wrist and quickly goes after him. They reach the first landing and duel back and forth, the window shattering when Norah deflects one of Mark’s _Expelliarmus_. Shards of glass fly everywhere and scrape across Mark’s cheeks and hands as he tries to cover himself.

He doesn’t know what she wants, but it’s surely not an interview, and he doesn’t want to draw her closer to his flat by backing off even more, so he stands his ground and continues fighting. He briefly wishes he’d attended Flitwick’s duelling lessons more often back in school.

A slicing jinx cuts across his left shoulder and Mark lets out a pained cry through clenched teeth.

“I could do this all day,” Norah exclaims, her voice shrill. “Just give up already.”

Mark doesn’t answer. Instead, he notices the walls are lined with tiles, just like the floor.

All those tiles would make a lot of noise. And his neighbours really aren’t fond of loud noises.

“I don’t know why you’re here or what you want from me,” he finally says, his breath ragged as they pause for a moment, “but guess what, I don’t care.”

And with that, he shoots a _Bombarda Maxima_ at the wall and another one at the floor, and everything explodes in a deafening blast. Mark is quick to cast a shielding charm over himself so that the shards don’t cut him again, but the clouds of dust are so thick that he can’t see where Norah is for the first few seconds.

He barely has time to register her hand reaching through the darkness before she’s gripping his neck and pinning him against the nearest wall. Her fingers close around his throat and he gasps for air, meeting her wild gaze. There’s a gash across her forehead, blood trickling down her face and dripping onto her shoes.

“That wasn’t very clever of you, Mr Tuan,” she growls, raising her wand.

He struggles against her hand, the stench of dark magic enveloping him and making his breathing even more difficult. She’s about to cast her last spell when a door flies open somewhere in the upper floors, the voice of an elderly man echoing in the hall.

“What’s all this din? People are trying to sleep!”

As the light from his home spills onto the staircase, Norah lets go of Mark and takes a few steps back, her wicked gaze never leaving his.

“This isn’t over,” she whispers. “We’ll find you. _Ex umbra in solem_.”

She’s gone before Mark can get his breath back. He leans back against the wall and hacks up a cough, his throat feeling dry and rough.

He doesn’t have much time before Mr Ferguson finds him, so he casts as many mending charms as he can before making a dash for his flat and locking the door. A feeling of uneasiness starts to crawl under his skin as he takes in his surroundings. His home isn’t safe anymore. Norah knows where he lives and may come back for him any moment.

She also said, “ _we_ ’ll find you.” Who is _we_? Why are they after him? What do they want? What did she say in Latin before vanishing?

Too many questions and not one single answer. Mark hastens to grab a few essentials, retrieving a few restorative potions and downing them in a matter of seconds as he ponders over his options, which are decidedly very limited.

His flat is no longer safe. He has to go, the sooner the better.

And there’s only one place he can think of that is safe enough to stay in until he decides his next move.

With a flick of his wrist, he wards his flat and then vanishes. Apparating such a long distance makes his stomach lurch, but he manages to keep it together as the ground beneath his feet becomes solid again. With a sigh and a small smile, he looks up at the towering castle and takes a step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again, this time with Mark's side of the story! Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they mean the world to me ^^ glad you're liking it so far! Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter as well <3


	3. Chapter 3

The clock strikes eleven o’clock and Youngjae looks up from his desk, carefully observing the three students randomly seated around the classroom.

“Okay, you’re all dismissed. It’s late,” he says.

The lot of them start, their quills abruptly halting on the paper.

“But sir,” one of them replies, the Gryffindor crest shining gold and red on his robes as he straightens up, “you said we had to stay here until eleven thirty—”

“I know what I said, Mr Rigg, thank you very much,” Youngjae interrupts him, taking off his glasses. “I believe, however, that having you and your friends write an extra essay on concealment charms for over three hours was enough of a punishment, or would you like to continue?”

“No, sir,” Rigg replies, his freckled face flushing red.

His two friends all let out relieved sighs after Youngjae gives them permission to leave.

“I still want that essay turned in, by the way,” he reminds them. “If it’s not on my desk by 8 am on Thursday, I’ll be speaking to the Headmistress.”

The three Gryffindors visibly pale at that.

“It’ll be ready, Professor Choi,” one of them promises, a girl with pixie cut blue hair and multiple ear piercings.

“And we promise not to disrupt your class ever again,” another quips, a tall boy with curly brown hair and an incredibly crumpled uniform.

Youngjae gathers his own stuff and approaches them, trying to keep himself from smiling.

“It’s alright, Miss Zhou, Mr Barker. Just remember that all products from Zonko are banned in the school and the castle grounds,” he replies calmly as they all walk out of the classroom and he locks the door behind himself. “Make sure you know how to conceal them if you’re going to use them, though. You won’t get caught that easily.”

The students’ faces light up in understanding, and they all look at each other with chuckles and wide grins.

“Thank you, Professor,” Michael Rigg says.

“For what? I didn’t say anything.” Youngjae shrugs, nodding towards the staircase. “Anyway, I have to escort you to Gryffindor tower, so let’s go.”

The three students start walking in front of him and he casts a nonverbal _Lumos_ to make sure they don’t lose their way. It’s way past curfew, so the castle is almost completely engulfed in darkness and he doesn’t really fancy anyone, including himself, falling through the trick step on the staircase that leads up to the towers.

He’s so familiar with the school he could probably find his way even in complete darkness, though. Back in the day, when he was still a student, he and his friends spent so much time exploring and discovering all the hidden passages and shortcuts that he’s sure he knows them all like the back of his hand.

When Professor Sprout decided it was time to fully devote herself to research and her own garden, she immediately approached Youngjae about becoming the next Head of House for Hufflepuff. The same thing happened with Professor Flitwick, more or less—he wanted to retire and told him he couldn’t think of anyone else better suited for the post of Charms professor. And so, with more than a few recommendation letters, Youngjae became the youngest Charms professor and Head of House in the last hundred years simultaneously.

To say he’s proud would be an understatement, really. However, the pressure that comes with both posts is sometimes close to unbearable. When the new Headmistress, Eleanora Cowbell, a former Ravenclaw and professor of Herbology, was appointed, she kept such a close eye on the younger professors that Minerva McGonagall had to step in eventually. Thankfully, the constant surveillance came to a halt as soon as Cowbell saw what Youngjae was capable of.

“We’re here,” Zhou says with a sigh of relief as they finally reach the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Alright then, you three. Go straight to bed and don’t forget your essays on Thursday,” Youngjae reminds them, earning a few quick nods. “Good night.”

“Good night, Professor Choi.”

The portrait closes behind him as he makes his way down the multiple staircases, only crossing paths once with the Grey Lady. She gives him a sorrowful look as he passes her with a polite nod, although maybe that’s just her usual expression. He’s about to turn to the stairs heading down to the kitchens, where the Hufflepuff common room and his own private quarters are located, when there’s a sudden shift in the air.

Everything goes still for a moment. Then the intruder alarms go off.

Someone has entered the castle.

Without thinking twice, he turns on his heel and rushes back up to the ground floor, where Eleanora Cowbell, Minerva McGonagall and Sybill Trelawney are already gathered. The door leading to the courtyard is closed and all of them are wielding their respective wands, but the tension in the air is palpable.

“Professor Choi,” McGonagall greets him, “I see you’re still wearing your day robes.”

“Yes, I was just returning from escorting a few Gryffindors to the tower when the alarms went off,” he explains, although his voice sounds foreign to him. Strained, guarded, a little afraid. “Do we know what caused it?”

“Not yet,” Cowbell chimes in, her ebony hair pulled up into a neat bun at the base of her skull. There are two streaks of white starting at her temples, but somehow that doesn’t make her look older. Her tall, slender and quite imposing figure, along with her amber-coloured eyes, give her an air of mystery so evident that it’s impossible for Youngjae to determine her age.

With a frown, she adjusts her dark blue robes around her waist. “Mr Filch is making sure the common rooms are properly secured. If anything happens, the students will be safer in there.”

“We are waiting for Professor Slughorn,” Trelawney says, her voice so low Youngjae almost misses it. “Do you think it’s possible he hasn’t heard the alarms, Minerva?”

“Oh, he has,” the other answers, nodding towards the stairs. Professor Slughorn is clumsily bouncing down them, clearly in a hurry. “He probably got too comfortable in Professor Merrythought’s old office.”

“Goodness, Minerva,” he replies when he reaches the group, huffing and puffing as he leans against Youngjae for support. “Give me a break. I was sleeping like a baby, and the alarms startled me so badly I didn’t even know where I was when I woke up!”

“It’s alright, Professor,” Youngjae says, quickly conjuring a handkerchief and handing it to him. Slughorn takes it and dabs at his sweaty forehead.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cowbell suddenly interrupts, clearing her throat audibly. “If you don’t mind, there’s an intruder we should be taking care of.”

“What if they’re hostile?” Trelawney asks.

“That’s why we have our wands.”

Youngjae can only smile reassuringly at the Divination professor when she looks his way, hoping it will ease her worries. It doesn’t ease his own, though. 

“Be prepared,” McGonagall says, and the five of them ready their wands.

“At any indication of a false move, stun them, Professor Choi,” Cowbell commands. “You’re the quickest with spells.”

“Understood,” Youngjae nods.

“Whoever it is, even if they’re muggle, should be near the entrance soon,” Slughorn whispers. “Should we open the door?”

“No. We’ll apparate outside,” Cowbell replies. “At the count of three. One.”

Youngjae takes a deep breath. He feels his magic flowing through him clearly, like the blood pumping through his veins. It awakens every fibre of his being until he feels he’s nothing but magic.

“Two.”

He closes his eyes, focusing on driving the magic from his core to his hands. His fingertips start tingling as if they’re charged with electricity.

“Three.”

He barely thinks about it, barely has to use his wand at all. Just thinking about the courtyard is enough for him to apparate there, almost completely unaffected by the motion. The foreign presence has already registered in his mind and the non-verbal _Stupefy_ has almost taken full form in his mind, but he stops short upon noticing who the intruder is.

A wobbly and dizzy Mark is standing before them, his shaky hands raised above his head in surrender, eyes wide and fearful. His silver hair glistens in the moonlight and he’s covered in cuts and scrapes, some of them deeper than others.

Their eyes meet, and relief seems to flood Mark’s expression.

“Youngjae,” is the only thing he says, breathless, before collapsing.

The five professors stare at the limp body before them for a few seconds before McGonagall finally speaks, clearing her throat.

“That’s Mark Tuan, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Youngjae answers, his eyes never leaving Mark’s form. “Yes, it is.”

“I remember him. He was in my house; in Gryffindor.”

“And he plays for the Montrose Magpies now,” Slughorn chimes in, brow furrowed. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

“I believe that’s a question for later,” Cowbell replies, taking a few steps forward until she’s standing next to Youngjae. “Any ideas, though?”

Youngjae doesn’t look away from Mark. There’s a gash across his cheekbone and another one on his shoulder, but they don’t look too severe and aren’t bleeding much. Mostly, he looks exhausted. The terrified look in his eyes lingers at the forefront of Youngjae’s mind, like a photograph, before he shakes his head.

“None, I’m afraid. I’m just as clueless as you are, Professor.” He turns to her, his jaw tight. “I’d suggest taking him to the infirmary right away, though.”

“Of course,” she nods. “I’ll let Madam Pomfrey know.”

As soon as the situation is dealt with and Mark is safely resting in a private area of the infirmary, Youngjae retires to his quarters. They’ve all agreed that he’ll be the one to approach Mark and talk to him when he wakes up, especially after McGonagall recalled that they were good friends back when they were students.

That is, of course, if by _good friends_ one can mean _desperately in love with each other_.

Youngjae shakes away the thought and swallows a small vial of dreamless sleep potion before he can think twice about it. He doesn’t want the questions and memories to get in the way of his much-needed rest. Tomorrow he’ll deal with it. Tomorrow.

The next morning, fresh as a daisy, he makes his way to the infirmary after a brief meeting with the other Heads of House and the Headmistress. He only has about an hour before his first class starts, so his plan is to make the encounter as quick and painless as possible.

For whom, he’s not sure.

Mark’s eyes are closed and his breathing steady when Youngjae enters the private room he’s been moved into, his silver hair glistening in the sunlight that streams in through the window above his bed. He stirs when Youngjae conjures a chair and sits by his bedside.

“What…” he mumbles, blinking drowsily. “Where am I?”

“Hogwarts, don’t you remember?” Youngjae answers, and that seems to startle Mark, who jumps slightly as he tries to sit up.

Youngjae reaches out to stop him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Not so fast. You’ve been out for a while; give yourself time.”

Mark just stares at him.

“Youngjae?” he mumbles eventually. “Is it really you? I mean, I kind of knew you worked here, but everything’s blurry and I thought it was a dream and—shit, I’m so glad to see you.”

The fear and anxiety in his eyes are so evident that Youngjae has to look away for a moment.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answers curtly. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

When he looks back at Mark, he notices he’s gone pale as a ghost. Youngjae cannot remember seeing him so affected before. He regrets the question as soon as it leaves his lips—if it scared Mark, it must be something truly terrifying.

“I was attacked,” Mark murmurs, and a fire starts raging inside Youngjae’s chest.

“By whom?”

“I’ve no idea. Can’t remember the name. I was getting home when a woman from _The Daily Prophet_ asked for an interview.” Mark squeezes his eyes shut, clearly struggling to remember more details. “It was obvious she wasn’t a journalist when she started throwing curses and jinxes at me when I said no.”

Youngjae frowns.

“A fanatic, maybe?” he says, lowering his voice. The portraits are watching and he’s getting the feeling this is a conversation that should be kept private.

Mark shakes his head.

“No. She was ruthless. I’ve never seen anyone duel so aggressively.” He pauses, smiling softly. “Well, except for one person.”

“I don’t duel like that anymore.” Youngjae clears his throat. “Anyway, if she wasn’t a fanatic, then what could she be? A dark witch?”

“I have no idea, but she did say something before vanishing—something I couldn’t understand, it sounded like Latin. She also said, ‘We’ll find you.’”

“ _We_?” Youngjae echoes, his frown deepening. “Who is _we_?”

“No clue.” Mark groans softly as he sits up against the pillows, prodding at his sore body. “What I do know, though, is that my flat isn’t safe anymore. I can’t go back. I warded it before leaving, but I was in a hurry; I didn’t even check—”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about that now.” In an attempt to calm him down, Youngjae places his hand on Mark’s shoulder again and squeezes softly. “You can stay here at Hogwarts. You’ll be safe. But you must tell the Headmistress about this, first.”

“I don’t want anyone else to know,” Mark replies, shaking his head firmly. “I told you because I trust you, Youngjae. I’d trust you with my own life, even now, after all these years, but I don’t want this getting out there, making it to the papers and putting the whole magical community at risk.” He takes a deep breath. “If there is a _we_ , that means there’s more than just that one witch.”

Youngjae catches on immediately.

“And as far as we know, they could be…”

“Anywhere,” Mark finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Youngjae, promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. You have to trust me.”

It takes him a moment to relent, but as always, the look in Mark’s eyes is stronger than his own will.

If Mark’s suspicions are correct, though, that means there’s a whole group of people looking for him right this very moment. To what end he doesn’t know, but judging by the state Mark was in last night, he can guess their intentions aren’t exactly good. They must be extremely careful.

“I promise,” he replies with a nod. “I’ll have to send an urgent message to a certain Auror, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with a new chapter! Hooray! (Sorry y'all, work is pretty much all that's going on in my life lately ;-;) Still, this is probably one of my favourite chapters so far, and not just because I love Youngjae uwu. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it ^^ looking forward to reading your thoughts as always! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and see you in the next one <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: blood, injuries, and somewhat gore-y descriptions. Reader discretion advised!

Water splashes across his face as Jaebeom reaches the top of the cliff, his chest heaving with pants. It’s freezing up there and he can barely see what’s in front of him because of the thick fog surrounding the area.

He can hear the sea below, though. The raging waves crashing against the rocks. A single look behind him and a quick revealing charm are enough to confirm that he is, indeed, alone. Jaebeom wipes the water and sweat from his brow with a swipe of his palm and gazes down at the sea. It’s a long fall from where he’s standing, and definitely not a painless one – there’s a mass of razor-sharp rocks poking out from underneath the black waters.

There’s a hidden entrance to a cave right at the bottom of the cliff, one that he must find, preferably before the sun sets. Grunting, he pulls his long hair up into a bun and takes a few steps back.

A deep breath, a quick run up the hill and a muttered self-levitation spell, and he’s gliding down towards the bottom of the cliff. He finds a flat surface to land on, then points his wand towards the wall of rock he just descended.

“ _Revelio_ ,” he says firmly, and a massive slab of rock dislodges itself from the wall, sinking into the sea and opening the hidden entrance to the cave.

Jaebeom doesn’t waste any more time and walks right in, using _Lumos Maxima_ to light his way through the darkness. There have been a few sightings of Bluecaps in the cave and its surroundings and the Ministry has sent him, out of all the Magizoologists available, to relocate the faeries to an abandoned mining site in Lancashire. He was called back from Japan, where he was researching Kappas’ hunting methods, just for this mission. Thankfully, Bluecaps aren’t difficult to handle, especially if you know how to flatter them. Their ego, just like the rest of their kin’s, is even bigger than themselves.

The cave is surprisingly more spacious than it looks, Jaebeom finds as he glances up at the dark ceiling above him. The sea, however, has eroded the rocks he walks on and made them extremely slippery, so he has to be extra careful not to slip and fall into the freezing water.

As soon as he loses sight of the entrance by turning a corner and ducking beneath a protruding black rock, Jaebeom notices the heavy silence. He could hear the sea before, the sound of the waves crashing outside fading as he wandered deeper into the cave, but as soon as he stepped into that passage, those sounds completely vanished.

The hairs on the nape of his neck prickle immediately.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he mutters to himself as he ventures further into the pitch-black darkness, the air around him growing heavier the more he advances.

After walking aimlessly for a while and realising there’s no sign of the Bluecaps, he stops and puts down his backpack. Opening it, he points the wand inside and murmurs, “ _Accio_ coins.” Almost instantly, a small purse filled with golden coins lands on his palm and he makes it jingle.

The sound echoes off the cave walls, then silence falls again.

That’s strange. If there are Bluecaps nearby, they should have reacted to the sound immediately. At least a few of them should have appeared.

Instead, Jaebeom is met, once more, with silence. This time, it’s heavier than a rock and it somehow feels like it’s making his breathing more difficult the deeper he ventures into the cave. He nimbly jumps over a few pointy rocks and reaches a tunnel so dark he can’t see five feet before him.

“Alright, this better work this time,” he mumbles to himself with a grunt, producing the bag of coins and jingling once or twice.

Nothing.

Jaebeom waits, though – the faint scent lingering in the stale air of the tunnel is making his insides turn. It’s something he hasn’t picked upon until now, but he’s been around enough magical creatures to know that what he’s smelling is blood, mixed with a hint of dark magic.

This is definitely not a Bluecap den, then. Gritting his teeth at the foul smell, he steps back and is about to rise his wand to call for backup when something grabs him by the ankle. A series of shrill screams echo off the tunnel walls, and Jaebeom’s heart starts hammering against his chest as he points his wand down at the hag that has just grabbed his leg. Just before the creature opens its horrible mouth to get a bite of his flesh, he casts a repelling spell. The hag retreats and lets him go with a hiss, but there are many more behind it, crawling up the tunnel, tempted by the presence of fresh meat.

Jaebeom doesn’t think twice and makes a run for it, although hags are known to be fast and vicious in their own environment. In their pursuit, they manage to claw at his left calf with their sharp nails, leaving a deep gash that considerably slows him down. Breathless, Jaebeom grips his wand tightly and shoots slicing jinxes, repelling spells, _Confringos_ and _Expulsos_ left and right. Still, for every hag that flies backwards or explodes, at least five more seem to appear from out of nowhere. They grab at his limbs and squeeze, sinking their claw-like nails into his skin and making him wail in pain.

He pushes through, however, and keeps running through the cave in hopes of finding the entrance from whence he came in. After throwing an _Expulso_ at a wall of rocks to slow the hags down, he falls onto his knees, gasping for air. There are multiple cuts and gashes on his body and even a few bite marks, although he’s got rid of the hag that tried to bite off a chunk of his shoulder before it even sank its teeth into his flesh.

The hags are desperate, and in their frenzy, they’re pushing past the collapsed rocks with surprising strength. Hags don’t usually act like that, Jaebeom briefly notices as he produces a blood-replenishing potion from his backpack – they must have been influenced by the dark magic in the tunnels. But what’s that magic doing there? How did it get there, and why?

Just as he’s about to drink the potion, leaning shakily against a wall and smearing it with blood –whether his or the hags’, he doesn’t know and doesn’t want to check–, the rocks give way and the hags reach him, taking him by surprise. They claw and bite viciously at him and the little flask falls from his hand, shattering against the ground. Jaebeom looks up and sees nothing but the black eyes of the horrid creatures, their sharp teeth gnawing at his flesh and their nails sinking into his gut.

 _Is this really how it ends?_ , he finds himself thinking as he begins to cough up blood, no longer feeling the pain. His head is throbbing, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, his body slowly shutting down.

He feels so cold.

He’s never felt so cold in his life. Not even during those trips to Hogsmeade in the middle of a blizzard just to share a couple of warm butterbeers with his friends.

Yugyeom used to get so tipsy they had to practically piggyback him all the way back to the castle.

Yugyeom.

Yugyeom, who is a Healer in St Mungo’s hospital.

Jaebeom’s wand is thankfully still in his hand, although his grip is far from tight. The amount of blood he’s losing, along with the internal organ damage the hags are currently making, won’t allow for much time either. Still, he holds onto that memory and plays it in his head over and over again.

“ _Expecto Patronum,_ ” he stammers, and only a few wisps of white light come out.

Yugyeom holding onto him and Jackson, cheeks flushed and head thrown back in laughter at some silly joke Bambam’s just told.

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

The white light is more vibrant now, but it’s abruptly cut off as a hag rips off a chunk of flesh from his side and Jaebeom screams in pain.

“ _Expecto… Patronum._ ”

The memory. He must focus on the memory.

Jinyoung and Youngjae rolling their eyes in mock offence, probably at the joke as well, while Mark stays behind to gather snow and make a ball. Jackson turning around and screaming, “Snowball fight!”, fleeing and dropping Yugyeom face-first into the snow in the process.

“ _Expecto… P-Patro… Expecto Patronum._ ”

The pain is unbearable. However, just as his eyes are drifting closed, he sees a great fire salamander emerge from the tip of his wand. The corporeal Patronus shines brighter than a star in the depths of the cave, scaring off the hags with a deafening hiss and a burst of silver blue flame.

“Get help,” Jaebeom manages to say through clenched teeth, “find Yugyeom.”

The last thing he sees before darkness engulfs him is his Patronus disappearing through the wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand I'm back with a new chapter! This one's a bit shorter, darker and more 'explicit' than the previous ones, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. (Also, I didn't even proofread it so apologies if there are any mistakes!)  
> I've barely been able to write since I've been isolated at home because of COVID-19 (yay, there goes my Christmas break!), but now that I'm doing a bit better I thought I would at least write a little bit of the fic. Don't know when the next chapter will come, but I hope it's sooner than later! Thanks for your patience <3


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